


Metamorphosis

by impish_nature



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Betrayal, Ford's slip in mental state, Gen, the shapeshifters part in all of this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 03:13:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6594391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impish_nature/pseuds/impish_nature
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ford’s world is crumbling around him. Abandoned and betrayed there’s only one person - or one creature that is, that he feels he can turn to.<br/>But maybe...maybe he’s wrong about that.<br/>There are two sides to every story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Metamorphosis

**Author's Note:**

> Mine and @thestarrydreamer ‘s baby that has been in the works for a long time now 8D
> 
> The cover art for this is over on tumblr at thestarrydreamer.tumblr.com it’s so lovely, go show them all the love ♥

“I still don’t trust it, Stanford.”

Ford sighed, a tired and highly frustrated groan escaping him at the interruption. He put his pen down with a sharp derisive clack to the table, his train of thought irrevocably broken as he turned to his friend and colleague with a disgruntled frown. He didn’t have time for this discussion over and over again, it was frankly tedious and had no basis in fact. “I _know_ you don’t, Fiddleford.” He couldn’t hide the exasperation in his tone or the roll of his eyes even as Fiddleford glared back at him, hurt by his flippant response.

“Then why are you so blatantly ignoring me?”

“ _Because_ , Fidds! You have nothing to base your arguments on!”

“Don’t I? It likes to mess with me, Ford! You’ve seen it do that. It mimics me even though you’ve told it not to countless times. It takes pleasure in _scaring_ me, it finds it funny. Why on Earth do you think I’d trust the thing?”

Ford gritted his teeth, standing up, the chair skidding behind him in a long high-pitch screech as it wobbled to stay upright. “You scared him first, you know you did. He only acts up around you because you don’t even try to hide the fact that you don’t like him and you never have. What did you expect him to do?”

“I…I don’t know, Ford.” Fiddleford took a step back, hands gesturing vaguely around him, obviously not wanting any conflict. But his eyes were beseeching as he glanced back at Ford, full of a deep heavy concern that he tried his best to ignore. “I just don’t like how close you are to it. It’s like you’re blinded by its intelligence. It’s still a wild animal and I’m worried your trust is going to turn around and bite you one day if you don’t start being careful.”

“I know what I’m doing. You’re being irrational, it’s highly unfitting for a man in our profession.”

Fiddleford let out an indignant squeak of disbelief at the reproach he heard littering Ford’s words. At being scolding like a petulant child.

He sniffed loudly, turning on his heel and leaving Ford to it, speaking over his shoulder as aloofly as possible.

“Whatever you say, boss. But might I suggest leaving it in its cage unless you’re actually studying it.”

Ford clattered back into his seat as the door slammed behind him, still irritated beyond belief that Fiddleford didn’t _understand_. Why couldn’t he see how brilliant their discovery was? How interesting and intriguing the species was? The specimen they had found proved that they were sentient beings, that they could understand, could listen, could be _taught_. The small creature was growing all the time and every day Ford taught him more felt like a day well spent.

And really, why was Fiddleford so worried?

Of course they’d hit some blips, that was to be expected. He was just a child, they’d raised him from an egg. Of course there would be times when things had to be explained to him. He didn’t know any better. They couldn’t just expect him to know right from wrong without teaching him.

A small noise snapped Ford out of his disappointed musings. His frown slipped into a small smile as the shapeshifter scuttled across the floor, quietly content to entertain itself as it explored the other side of the glass. He glanced back at his notes from earlier, from before Fiddleford had ruined his mood. How they’d spent the day testing out the limits to his evolutionary advancements, image after image, creature after creature. It was fascinating really, not just in studying the shapeshifters own innate abilities but also in finding out small details about the other supernatural creatures being shifted into. The interesting little notes that they could not tell him themselves but could this way be harmlessly explored. The shapeshifter had been so proud to meet all of Ford’s tests head on, lapping up the praise, like a child pleasing his parent and Ford could only agree that the familial feeling was reciprocated. He had nursed him from birth, kept him safe and sound, and now had begun teaching him everything he knew, giving him everything he could. Would give him more if he could, a notion he had never expected feeling when they had found the egg in the first place.

And yet still Fiddleford could not see passed the implications of what a shapeshifter _could_ do if they ever let one out into the big wide world. All the ‘what ifs’ and consequences of a far less reasonable creature than the one they had befriended, that they had nurtured.

He said it was trying to trick him.

Ford scoffed to himself, eyes still locked on the shapeshifter as he adventured, darting here, there and everywhere in his curiosity. Watched him shift at will just because he could, staring at himself in reflective surfaces with a tilt of his head before shifting again with a gleeful purr. There was nothing ‘malicious’ as Fiddleford put it, about him, not in Ford’s eyes. It wasn’t _his_ fault that he’d spent his entire life in the bunker and sometimes grew tired of his confinement. That was all their doing. An irritating mix of Fiddleford’s meddling whenever he finally gave in and decided to take him on a daytrip and his own anxious misgivings that he’d lose him in the forest or heaven forbid let him get _hurt_.

Ford wouldn’t forgive himself if something dangerous in the forest injured him.

Not to mention that if his planned trips into the forest had their drawbacks then a trip into town was even more out of the question. No one would believe him if he told them he wasn’t a monster, they’d probably all agree with Fiddleford’s unfounded misgivings. But that was because none of them knew him like he did!

No.

No, it was better to keep him down here where it was safe. He'd just have to convince the shapeshifter that it was for his protection, that shouldn’t be too difficult.

Ford snorted, shaking his head in disappointment. The real challenge would be convincing Fiddleford his doubts were completely preposterous.

 

* * *

 

Everything had gone wrong.

How had everything gone so _wrong_?

Ford was shaking like a leaf, he couldn’t seem to stop the tremors as he gripped at his arms and descended the steps into the bunker, each step a heavy burden that made him want to sink to the floor and stay curled up there forever but the end result of moving forward would be worth it, he kept reminding himself, pushing forward against the hopeless crushing darkness.

How could he have been so _blind_?

And now Fiddleford had left him, abandoned him to whatever befell him next. Guilt ate away at his heart and his mind. He knew he shouldn’t be angry at his assistant, that his own heart had stopped with terror as he had watched him get dragged through the portal, so utterly helpless to do anything about it as time seemed to slow to a halt. How his stomach had lurched painfully when his friend fell screaming and twitching to the floor moments later, unable to see or hear him through his hallucinations, through whatever he had seen.

And yet the painful bitter truth of his friend deserting him still felt like such a terrible betrayal.

And through it all there was another more deeper pain, a dark spiralling thought that had him stopping halfway down the stairs, arm reaching out for the wall to stop from tumbling forward as the dizzying images consumed him.

Had Fiddleford been right?

Had Bill been using him this entire time?

He took a few steadying breaths, the sound of it echoing around the small space as he tried to take control of his emotions. It was so hard to believe it, so hard to look back on everything that his muse had done for him and see a despicable villain in his place. What would he have to gain from all this? He’d given him so much information, he’d been his most trusted confidant. Why would he-?

Ford stopped the thoughts there, locking them back with a quick gulp and the straightening of his back.

He still had someone he could confide in.

Someone he could trust.

He just needed to make it down this staircase and he could relax, put all his thoughts in order and work out where to go from here.

Just one moment of respite, that’s all he was asking for before he took on Bill. Before he went to confront him. He could hope, a small trail of optimism that his friend would explain everything to him, that it was all a big misunderstanding. They’d gotten the co-ordinates wrong or a miscalculation in the equation that had led them to the wrong dimension, that was all.

It fell flat to his own ears, they’d gone over everything time and time again.

And there was no way that he could every try and argue that Fiddleford was making everything up. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to erase the incoherent babbling, the dilated pupils and pallid skin, the abject fear and horror that sent his friend scuttling away from him like he was the biggest monster he had seen.

No, as much as he wanted to trust in Bill, it would be nothing short of a miracle that would have him believing his word against Fiddleford’s.

He almost stopped again on the stairs, hand pressing over his mouth to hide the whimper, to physically crush the tears before they fell. If only he had listened to Fiddleford before it was _too late_. He’d never be able to make it up to him, not for any of it. Would never be able to forgive himself if he had damaged him beyond repair.

He focused on his heartbeat, his breathing, ignoring the steadily rising panic and ever clawing hopelessness that threatened to engulf him. He just needed to stop thinking for a few moments. Needed a welcome distraction.

Just keep breathing, slow and steady. In, out, in, out.

Just keep moving, one step at a time, further and further, _he was so close now_. A few more feet and everything would be better.

Everything would feel normal again, just for a moment.

“Everything OK, Ford?”

“Hmm? Yeah, just a quick visit.” Ford felt the clouds start to dissipate at the familiar voice, the recognisable welcoming tone that he had become accustomed to. He tried to smile cheerfully, sitting on his side of the glass as his favourite pupil came into view, flopping down brightly on the other side. He had grown so much, Ford thought with, the tension easing from his shoulders. The small curious and excited creature that had scampered around him seemed older now, wiser. The perfect person to go to in his hour of need, even if he wasn't necessarily ready to talk about the ordeal with anyone. “Forgot a few things, thought I’d check up on you.” The lies slipped off his tongue, flat to his own ears but he needed an excuse. Needed to be able to sit for just a few moments and not think before he entered the mindscape and tore down everything he had built.

The shapeshifter was having none of it, his eyes narrowing at Ford’s expression, gleeful smile vanishing as he contemplated him. “You’re lying.”

“Huh? No, I’m-” Ford sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair as he looked away, distracted. The dark thoughts loomed ever closer again. “Sorry, it’s been a rough day. Let’s just- can we talk about something else?”

“Was it Fidds?”

Ford froze at the voice. His head turned back to the shapeshifter slowly, his mouth opening and closing in quick succession as he tried to come up with a reply. Nothing but a small squeak made it passed his lips. He knew the shapeshifter was playing, that this was the type of joke that would normally get a well meant chuckle from him, would normally lift any bad mood caused by his assistant’s incessant qualms about their various projects. But in light of the day’s happenings he couldn’t even work up the grimace of a smile as his eyes met the creatures through the glass.

Fiddleford stared back at him.

God, it stung to see him standing there. That painfully familiar, endearing and exasperated expression on his face, hands on hips as he tapped his foot, a mannerism the shapeshifter had picked up that had once made him laugh delightedly and his friend grumble. He could almost let himself think that nothing had happened, that Fiddleford was here with him and it had all been a bad dream, a nightmare spawned of his own subconscious.

The only thing that was wrong was his eyes, twinkling with a mischief Fiddleford would never display, waiting patiently for Ford to join in on the joke.

_“Are you even listening to me, Ford?”_

“Stop it!” Ford’s words came out in a painful angry hiss, his hands a white knuckled grip on the edge of the desk to make sure he didn’t throw them up over his ears. A physically shield against the voice that made a tremor run through him again. But the damage was already done, Fiddleford’s age old warnings ricocheting around his head.

_I don’t trust him, Ford! What’s so hard to understand about that?_

_Why can’t you see that he’s just using you?_

_For once in your life, would you just listen to me!_

“Please, stop it.”

“Ford?”

Ford’s eyes snapped open again, Fiddleford’s face still there in front of him but the voice vastly different, slipping back to the shapeshifters original tone. Light and dashed with concern. The shapeshifter’s replica Fiddleford still made his heart thump painfully against his ribcage, the deeply furrowed eyebrows and heavy worry etched there such a vivid contrast from the bitter resentment he’d seen flowing over the real face barely even a few hours ago.

With difficulty he let go of the table, the wood creaking in protest. He slipped his head into his hands, his elbows resting on the desk with a deep shuddering breath, so very close to turning into a sob. It felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, it was all too much. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

“What’s going on? You can tell me anything, you know.”

Ford relaxed under the ministrations, the soft tone calming him. He pushed his glasses away with one hand and rubbed at his eyes vigorously, still keeping his head bowed as a small optimistic smile graced his lips. He did have someone to confide in still. There was still somebody who cared. There was hope for him yet. “Fiddleford left. He doesn’t want to be part of my research anymore, he thinks it’s dangerous.” That was as far as he was willing to go, but it was enough. It took some of the burden away, the weight lifting ever so slightly from his back.

“He’s _gone_?”

Ford felt his muscles go taut. The hand, still propping his head up, tightened in his hair painfully.

Had he just sounded happy about that?

He lifted his head lethargically, giving the shapeshifter a swift appraising look. He was now back in his normal form and looking appropriately contrite but something about it all set Ford on edge again.

“Don’t worry too much, Ford. I’m sure he’ll come around eventually.”

A fake smile twisted up one side of Ford’s face, his heart beating erratically. Nothing made sense anymore, everything had been turned around and broken into pieces. He wasn’t sure what feelings he could trust or what was paranoia leaking through his already broken mind, skewing his perceptions. Seeing monsters where there weren’t any. “Yeah, you’re right. Of course you are. In fact, I think…I think I’ll go talk to him now, try and get through to him. Thanks, I think I just needed a fresh pair of eyes.”

“I’m always here for you, Ford, you know that.”

“Yeah, I do. I’ll be back soon.” Ford nodded, standing up and backing away, grabbing his journal as he went. He waved to his pupil once more as he vanished back into his living area. Ford took a few moments to gather up his things quietly, his movements hesitant. Dreading where he was headed next as he turned to leave through the still open door.

His mouth went abruptly dry, his feet unsteady as the world crashed around him for a second time that day.

He was sure he could hear his companion laughing gleefully now that he thought Ford had left him to it.

Ice dripped cold and dark down Ford’s spine as he slowly left the bunker in a daze. His eyes were wide, his thoughts swirling dark and despondent, full of doubts and mistrust and absolute fear.

Fiddleford had been right about Bill.

Had he been right with his other misgivings as well?


End file.
